


Harry Potter and the Nine Trials

by Fox_the_Hermit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Eventually Major Character Death, Gen, Goblet of Fire AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Hermit/pseuds/Fox_the_Hermit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius makes a different choice, the first important choice that must be made among many. Changes will spiral from it, ones that may lead to peace... or to a lost war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sirius Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Two roads divergent long ago  
> Now show their difference true  
> The grim comes back to guide  
> The four travelers through  
> A year of trials and tribulations,  
> So that harder paths they later brave,  
> When time comes and-
> 
> Cassandra Trelawney's prophecy, June 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A single choice_  
>  _To flee or stay_  
>  _Will shape the world_  
>  _For eternity._
> 
> Book of Eternal Prophecy, Salazar Slytherin

 

Harry strolled through the barrier, wheeling his trolley and immediately turning his head to look for the Dursleys. He waved goodbye to Ron, got a hug from Hermione, bid goodbye to the other Weasleys, and headed to his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin. They looked almost the same as ever, though Dudley seemed to be even _wider_ than Harry remembered (if that was possible), and Petunia even more horse-faced than usual.

“Hurry up, boy! I haven’t got all day, you know. And what’s that letter in your hand!” Vernon Dursley quietly spat. His walrus-like face was already red and he was obviously in a rather foul mood, likely from seeing all the wizards and witches passing him on the platform. “Not another bloody form, I should hope! You’re lucky enough that I am taking you back after what happened to my sister.” This unenthusiastic greeting did little to dampen Harry’s spirits. In fact, he just grinned at his Uncle.

“Oh no, Uncle Vernon. It’s a letter from my godfather, Sirius.” Harry placidly said, waiting for the explosion.

Vernon spluttered. “Godfather! You haven’t got a godfather.”

“Yes I have. He was my parent’s best friend. He’s a convicted murder but he broke out of Wizarding Prison last summer, so he’s on the run. He likes to keep in touch with me though. Check on my news. Check that I’m _happy._ ”  Harry couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face at the horror-struck faces of his relatives as the four of them all headed to the car.

The drive was absolutely silent, as the Dursley family members were utterly terrified by the prospect of a wanted magical criminal turning up and painfully murdering them in the middle of the night. It was fine by Harry, who just stared out the window the whole time. It was not as though he had anything to say to his relatives, either. He wondered what he’d do during summer, apart from homework. Maybe he’d meet Hermione somewhere in London, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Then there was the Quidditch Cup Ron promised to invite him over for, so he wouldn’t spend his entire holiday at Privet Drive.

Lost in thought, the journey seemed to take no time at all, and soon they were parked in front of Number 4 Privet Drive. The newly installed fear of magic, and Sirius, did not persuade his Uncle to take Harry’s trunk inside, but Harry was fine with that. He didn’t want his Uncle dropping it, and something inside breaking and spilling. He followed his relatives inside his house, and was about to drag his very heavy trunk  upstairs, when Petunia’s shriek from the kitchen interrupted his first lacklustre attempt.

Harry ran into the kitchen, along with Vernon. He froze at the threshhold, trying not to burst out laughing. The kitchen walls were now red and gold, half the furniture appeared to have been jinxed a bright, lurid pink, and Sirius was perched on the kitchen counter. He looked completely different, dressed in Muggle casual clothes, his hair clean and neatly-combed.

“Hey, Sirius. What’s up?” Harry greeted his godfather, pleased.

“Change of plans, Harry. Or rather, I was afraid of the letter getting intercepted, so I couldn’t tell you the actual plan. You’re spending summer at my house. Hand over your wand for a sec, will you? I need to remove the tracking spells on it.” Sirius stood up and walked over to Harry.

“You mean it? I can actually live with you?” Harry said, handing his wand over. Sirius tapped it with his own. It briefly glowed and then he handed it back to Harry.

“Yup. C’mon, give me the trunk. We’ll disapparate from here, and you’ll never need to come back.”

“Now, wait-” Vernon tried to interrupt, his anger and confusion overpowering his terror of magic and Sirius.

“Yadda yadda, walrus. Say your goodbyes Harry, and we’ll go.”

Harry grinned. He’d never have to see this place again. “Bye.”

Sirius placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder gripped it tightly, and then the world disappeared. For a second, Harry felt like he was being squeezed into a tight straw, and then the world become normal again. Except now, he and Sirius were standing in a dingy, dry park in a neighborhood that was clearly not the best. There were piles of garbage by some of the doors, a large amount of graffiti on the ground level and extremely dirty, half-cracked windows.

Before he could say anything, Sirius pulled him forwards, and as they came closer to the row of houses in front of them, a new house seemed to _push_ it’s way from between two neighbouring houses. It was much cleaner and looked far better kept than the other houses, though half the windows were caked with dirt from the inside. Sirius strode forwards, and tapped the door thrice with his wand. There was a series of whirs and clicks, and then the door swung open. “Welcome to the Residence of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, Number 12 Grimmauld Place.”

They stepped inside, Sirius dragging Harry’s trunk, and then closing the door behind them. Inside, the hall was very well lit from several simple brass chandeliers. The bare walls were polished wood, and the floor was covered with a thick, Gryffindor-red carpet. Harry smiled. “Nice.”

“Remus and I, we’ve been redecorating. Let me tell you, I never thought blasting spells could be as fun as they were.”

“Blasting spells?”

“This place was covered in dust, grime, horrible portraits and awful decor. Believe me, they were the only option. You’ll find out. Only the Library, Kitchen, Attic and three bedrooms have been cleaned out so far. And the staircase. The rest… well.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure. It’ll go faster with you, though you’ll need to learn quite a few spells. Wanton destruction isn’t as easy as you’d think, not when you actually need to control it..”

Suddenly, Harry heard footsteps. Professor Lupin came up the staircase. He wasn’t wearing robes anymore, rather a beige sweater and pants.

“Hello Professor Lupin!”

“No need for that, Harry. Call me Remus. I’m no longer your professor, after all. Has Sirius already told you where your bedroom is?”

Before Harry could reply, Sirius answered.

“No, Remus. We’ve just arrived. Your bedroom’s on the First Floor, Harry. Second door from the right. Anything to eat in the kitchen, Remus?” Sirius now had a hopeful look on his face, as he gestured downstairs where Harry now presumed the kitchen to be.

“Spaghetti, and there's more in the fridge. I went grocery shopping while you were out. By the way, what took you so long?” Remus quirked his eyebrow.

Harry interrupted. “It took me forever to get home, and it’s not like Sirius could just pick me up from the station.”

“True, true. I’ll take your trunk upstairs, while you two eat. I seem to remember that the only nourishment that the train offers is candy, and I doubt that’s very filling. I’ll get started on the drawing room. I’ve already fed Buckbeak.”

“He’s here?” Harry asked, a little surprised.

“I couldn’t just abandon him, Harry. Besides, I think he likes sleeping all day, the lazy bird.” Sirius rolled his eyes at the hippogriff’s laziness.

Harry nodded in understanding, and Remus went upstairs, levitating Harry’s trunk. Sirius led Harry downstairs, where Remus had come from.

True enough, a pot of pasta did indeed stand on the stove. Harry looked around. The kitchen was clean, wood-paneled, and also carpeted. There was a very long table with three stuffed chairs nearest to the stairs. The further-off part of the table was buried under a mountain books and scrolls. At Harry’s questioning gesture at the messy pile, Sirius shrugged.

“We’re researching Voldemort’s immortality and the Werewolf curse. If there’s any information to be found, it can probably be found here. All the books are from the library.”

“Why would this house have stuff like that?” Harry asked, curious.

“As I said, it’s the residence of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. My family. And pretty much everyone here was Dark, for dozens of generations.”

“Dark?” Harry’s never heard of the House of Black before, and was interested in learning more.

“Meaning ‘Dark Magic Users’ and Blood Purists of the worst sort. There were a few decent folks here and there, like me, Cousin Andy, Uncle Alphard, Grandad Arcturus, but the others… Well, Dark at _best_ and Death Eaters at worst.”

“What are Death Eaters?” Harry asked. Sirius frowned.

“No one told you much about the war, have they? They’re Voldemort’s evil minions. My Cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa were Death Eaters, along with their husbands, Rudolphus… or was it Rabastan?...Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy.”

“ _Malfoy?_ You’re related to _Draco Malfoy_?” Harry asked incredulously, choking on his forkful of spaghetti.

“And so is Ron, and so are you, just not as closely. Fourth or fifth cousins, or the like. Almost all Purebloods are related. The family gatherings were _so fun_.”

Harry grimaced, imagining a family gathering with the Malfoys. Then they were quiet for a while, just eating. Once they were finished, Sirius magically cleaned the plates and sent them to the proper drawer. At Harry’s glance, Sirius shrugged. “Why bother wasting time on this? Anyway, come on. The drawing room needs cleaning, if we want to live here safely.”

As they walked up the staircase, something occurred to Harry.

“Sirius? Who lived here before you and Prof- Remus moved into here?”

“No one, really. My mother had died a few years back, and father even earlier. Only Kreacher, the house-elf was left. I hate the little bugger.”

“Where is he?” Harry asked curiously.

“In his den in the boiler room. I let him take a few trinkets to keep from each room after we clean and sort everything, and in return I’ve ordered him to stay in his room, without leaving or communicating with anyone outside the house in anyway.”

“Why?”

“Blood purist, which is strange for a house-elf. Horrible bugger, really. He believed everything my parents had ever said, and really, you _don’t_ want to meet him.” As he said that, Sirius threw open the door to the drawing room. “Now, come on in.”

Harry walked into the, possibly, dirtiest, ugliest room he had ever seen. Lupin was standing in front of the heavy curtains, waving his wand and frowning. “Sirius, Harry. Finished? Wonderful.”

“What’s up with the curtains?” Harry asked curiously. They were buzzing, and Harry wondered what on earth could be behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, sniffed, and groaned. “Doxies.”

Harry felt that the name was familiar, but for the life of him, couldn’t remember where from. “Doxies?”

“Picture the black, unholy offspring of an fairy and a wasp, and twice as mean and poisonous. Remus! A slowing charm, and then just burn the whole thing, you reckon?” Sirius called over to Remus.

“Probably the best solution. Harry, do you know those spells already?” Remus asked.

Harry shook his head. “I know the _impedimenta_ _arderei_ , but not any burning ones. Hermione taught us last year, during the doxy disaster with Lockhart.”

Sirius nodded in understanfing. “The spell you can use are _ardeo_ or _incendio_ , since both will conjure flame. _Ardeo_ you can control, but it’s harder, and _incendio_ just burns the lot. Both  the spells are just point and incant. Got it?”

Harry nodded.

“Right then. _Impedimenta_ on one… two… three.... _IMPEDIMENTA ARDEREI!”_ Sirius shouted, followed by the other two. Short gusts of magic moved and blanketed the curtains. Harry saw small, black things sluggishly start to move out of them.

“ _Ardeo!_ ” he said, pointing his wand at the nearest lot of doxies. Nothing happened, and as they moved closer, fueled by panic he tried again. A streak of fire burst out the end, slicing right through the doxies, before dying out. They smelt horrible, even as they turned to ash.

It was very repetitive. The doxies got out, Harry burnt them with either _ardeo_ or _incendio_ , then got on with burning down the curtains section by section, filling the room with an absolutely horrible smell. Curiously, the fire went out whenever he lost concentration, so the curtains did not keep on burning or even smoking. With each repetition, however, he could control the spells a little better, and was encouraged by his success.

On his left, Sirius was shooting the doxies out of the air with bright, fiery sparks that shot from his wand, while Lupin was methodically moving a large swathe of flame which was devouring the curtains and doxy nests. The whole room stank of singed doxies and curtains, even though Remus and Sirius were both frequently casting air-freshening charms.

After a long while, there were finally no curtains or doxies left, leaving the dirty, dusty windows bare. It was early evening now, Harry noticed. Sirius looked satisfied. “Never liked the dreary things. The colour was always quite dreadful. Right, let’s torch the couch.”

“The couch? Why?” Harry asked.

“My mother had the most dreadful habit of cursing things she left behind. Cuckoo clocks that shoot knives, homicidal robes, you know. I’m just torching the lot. It’s safer.”

Harry nodded in comprehension. It made sense.

And so the cleaning went. One by one, pieces of furniture were devoured by flames, until only the cabinets were left. Harry glanced inside one. There was a multitude of gleaming objects in there, too many to count. Noticing Harry’s glance, Sirius said “We’re leaving those for last. They need actual _sorting_.” Sirius’ face twisted in disgust.

Then Harry got a crash course in cleaning charms, and how to best apply them in large quantities. By the time night fell, the room was bare but for the Black Family Tapestry and the four cabinets. The walls, floor and windows were perfectly clean, gleaming from _scourgify_ overuse. Harry was now very tired from casting so many spells in a row, and stumbled to his room, after a short dinner courtesy of Lupin.

“Good night Sirius, Prof-Remus.”

“Night, Harry.” They replied as Harry left the kitchen and went upstairs and entered his room.

Harry finally got a look at his room. It was mostly bare, with light green walls and a thick blue rug. There was a large bed, wardrobe, and a table with a large armchair. His trunk was in the middle of the room. He was so exhausted now, that he didn’t even bother taking his clothes off before he collapsed onto the bed. Harry fell asleep in moments. His last thought was that Privet Drive was no longer, and would never again be, his home.

Unknown to him, a set of wards weakened by his prolonged absence gave a final shiver and collapsed into nothingness.


	2. To Clean, Perchance to Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ A single choice that’s rightly made _
> 
> _ Will be the first step to many _
> 
> _ That must be rightly chosen. _
> 
> Book of Guiding Prophecies, Morgana le Fay

 

The next two weeks passed in a similar fashion to the first day. Harry would get up, have breakfast with Sirius and Remus, and they would get on with cleaning out Grimmauld Place. The drawing room cabinets had yielded an unexpected boggart, a music box that charmed people to sleep (which Sirius kept), a few vials of red liquid, and a plethora of other mostly useless items. Harry had met Kreacher that day, and could safely say, that he would never meet a more foul-tempered house-elf. The little being had glowered at them all darkly, while picking out an ugly old medal and a large golden locket with an emerald serpent to keep for himself.

The tapestry required fiendfyre to get down, which Sirius prohibited Harry from using, and then the room was changed to a light orange colour, dark red curtains were conjured for the windows, and several large, soft couches were added to the middle of the room.

A spare bedroom and the adjoining toilet, the master bedroom, the formal dining hall and all the hallways followed suit. In the process of cleaning, Harry learned more variations of blasting, fire, cleaning, polishing, paint stripping and freezing hexes than he thought existed, disabling and frying creatures and homicidal furniture left and right. Lupin had even decided to see whether he could already learn to Vanish things. Harry had been apprehensive, as that skill was supposed to be Year 7 spellwork, but, as Sirius said, “You can conjure a Patronus! A little Vanishing should be nothing, especially under threat of being bitten.” It worked out well enough, once Harry had the hang of it. It did, however, take several spiders and rats before he managed to learn to vanish small animals completely, and a lot of noises of disgust on the behalf of all three of them as they watched halves of spiders try to crawl around and try to eat the rat halves. He didn’t bother with the theory, as he would learn it all at school anyway.

In fact, Harry progressed to abandoning wand movements for the spells he already knew after his wrist felt like falling off, and he even managed to learn some non-verbal spells once his voice gave out.

Well, it was less him learning it, and a table attacking him once he lost his voice. A little luck and a non-verbal Blasting Curse, and Remus and Sirius exchanged looks and grins. Then, whenever Harry needed to cast spells, the two Marauders Silenced him until he learned to cast  _ Finite Incantatem _ silently as well. It had been  _ very _ ,  _ very _ difficult but necessity and life-or-maiming situations were good teachers. Apparently, that was how the Marauders originally learnt it all as well - in 3rd and 4th year, they went and antagonised the Acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest, just to master the spells early.

Of course, Harry repaid that favour by emptying buckets of water on them early one morning, and then adding glitter and glue. That had started the first prank war he had ever been in, and the first one he lost. Harry vowed to learn more spells for next time, however, and the older pranksters just outright decided to teach him. They had by now managed to finish off cleaning the entire house, so Sirius and Remus had returned to research. They had also added teaching Harry to their summer plans, as well as including him in their research projects. They couldn’t really leave the house, as there was nowhere to go and the ministry still searched for Sirius.

“Okay, Harry, what do you want to learn?” asked Remus, the first morning where they no longer needed to clean anything.

Harry thought. With his luck, the next few years would be no better than the last ones, and he  _ knew _ Voldemort had it out for him. “DADA? I think? And Charms and Transfiguration, maybe…”

“Good choices, Harry. With Moldymort after you, you need to learn everything you can. But why not Ancient Runes?” Sirius smiled.

“Runes? How are they useful?” Harry asked blankly. Hermione had taken Ancient Runes, and while they had looked interesting, he never saw them as useful. Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn't even know what they  _ did _ .

Sirius choked. “H-ho-how are they useful? Harry, wards and traps and the worst curses are  _ built _ on runes. You want an improvised spell? Trace the right runes with magic, and bingo. You want to protect your stuff from slimy Slytherins? Carve runes on the stuff. We all took Runes. Don’t you take them at Hogwarts?”

“No, I have Divination.”

“Whatever for? Unless you have the gift, it’s useless. If you have the gift, only you can train yourself, or centaurs, so it’s useless then, too. Drop it, and change it for Runes.”

“I can do that?” Harry asked, surprised. He didn’t know you could change subjects, just drop them.

“James did. He just needed to pass a test to prove that he could keep up with classwork, and then he was set. Remus and I’ll bring you up to speed on them, I bet we have Runes textbooks in the library. Actually... I’ll teach you to become Animagus, too, and what I remember of Auror training.” Sirius said, writing down the topics on a piece of parchment.

“Why so much?” Harry asked. Sirius sighed.

“Voldemort’s not dead, Harry, you know that. And with Fudge as Minister? Voldemort will come back, and with most of his followers free, the war will start up all over again. I want you to survive it. I want me to survive as well, for that matter, but you need training, while I just need practice.”

Harry fervently agreed. After what he had seen of Fudge and Lucius Malfoy, another war seemed inevitable to him, too.  He did, however, refuse to start learning Animagus magic without his friends.

 

A routine was set for the next two months. Harry would wake up very early, and go running outside with Sirius in dog form running around him. When he tried to complain, Sirius shot him down by regaling him with tales from the Auror Academy and the grueling exercises they did there. Afterwards, Sirius taught Harry to use a knife, both to fight and throw. Surprisingly to Harry, Remus had turned out to be adept at sword-fighting, courtesy of his pure-blood father. He began to teach Harry the basics of using the sword-cane that Harry had found in one of the hidden rooms that the three had stumbled upon, and which had belonged to Evie Frye, Sirius’ great-grandaunt. It was black and straight, with an easy to grip handle, a tree-like design on top of the hilt, and ivy-like patterns burned into the blade.

According to both his teachers, however, this would not be much of an advantage against most purebloods - it was simply catching up, as most could wield a weapon or two due to their own training. Harry was shocked to learn that some of his school-mates, like Susan, Neville, and the Slytherins Nott, Zabini and Greengrass already probably knew the basics of the family weapon style.

Afterwards, bruised, tired and battered, Harry would study Runes textbooks and Sirius would quiz him on what he learned and suggest practical applications to the runes. Harry would also do some carving, or writing with the Runes, to actually learn how to do it. So far, he managed to produce a night-light and a quill that never ran out of ink, which he now considered poor progress compared to his advances in wand work.

After lunch, would come either Transfiguration, Charms, or Combat, which Harry enjoyed immensely. Neither Sirius nor Remus really bothered to teach him the theory of most of the spells. Mostly, they’d explain the incantation, effect and wand movement, and if Harry took too long, or his progress would be too slow, Sirius would send tickling hexes at Harry, and keep them going until Harry got it out of panic and desperation. “Desperation is motivation for you Harry. Just look at your Patronus that night in June!”

In the evenings, Sirius and Remus would tell Harry stories of his parents, while the three of them slowly trawled through the numerous tomes of the Black Library, in search of answers to Voldemort’s immortality. Harry was assigned the legends, myths and Grey books, as they were almost always not cursed. Almost being the imperative word. He had accidentally got himself a biting book on the fifth weeks of vacation, which had to be burned on the spot.

It was the best summer Harry had ever had, even though he had to do so much work. He exchanged letters with Ron and Hermione, carefully coding what he was really doing into his letters. He didn’t know if anyone had ever intercepted his letters, and it would have been very bad if anyone had known he was with Sirius, and doing magic over summer. His friends were very happy for him for having fun, slightly envious of his freedom to use magic, sympathetic of his daily workouts and tickling hexes, and in Ron’s case, horrified at being made to learn magic and runes. 

Hermione, however, was ecstatic regarding Harry’s new interest.  _ How wonderful, Harry! I see Padfoot and Moony have been good for your interest in education. Have you gotten to the nightlight creation stage yet? It took me hours to get it to work! Hope you are well… _ she wrote in one of her letters. and after a few of Harry’s letters regarding just how useful and interesting Runes were, Ron had gone and looked through some of Bill’s old textbooks. And then a monster was born, as Ron finally found his calling when it came to magic, or at least part of it. He kept sending extremely long letters to Harry regarding artifacts and Runes. Hedwig and Ron’s little owl Pigwidgeon the Haddock, ( _ Ginny named him, and I have no idea why. _ Ron wrote in one letter), kept getting workouts, carrying Ron’s letter-essays to Remus and Sirius, and carrying long, detailed answers back, every one-two days.

And according to Ron, once his mother had seen him take an interest in Runes and Artifacts, she had sighed, dropped her head in her hands and gone to make herself some tea.  _ She thinks I’m another Bill and Charlie,  _ he wrote,  _ and going to go into a dangerous job abroad. I dunno about abroad, Harry, but maybe joining the Unspeakables could be my thing. They are part of the ministry department that does research and artifact work and the like. Dad told me that technically no one knows what they really do, but he has some friends, and they’ve given hints... _

Ron had also invited him and Hermione to watch the Quidditch World Cup Finals in the top box and stay over for two weeks, and Remus and Sirius agreed, after a short and heated discussion where Sirius wanted to keep Harry home to prepare him for the year, and Remus wanted Harry to socialize. Harry thought it was amazing, how much they looked like Percy and the twins when disagreeing. In the end, however, he was allowed to go.

Harry had already sent a letter to his Head of House regarding the subject change from Divination to Runes, and received an affirmative reply, as well as a thinly veiled congratulation in dropping the rather pointless subject.

The idyllic atmosphere, however was ruined one night.

 

_ He stood in front of a large and derelict house. It was nighttime and there was no moon, but a light was in one of the windows upstairs. It was flickering, as though it came from fire. Was the house going to burn down? _

_ An old man hurried to the house, limping and using a cane, quietly swearing. He seemed to have the same idea as Harry, regarding the fire. Harry followed him inside through the back door and up the staircase, which were not lit. The old man did not see or hear Harry. Was he a ghost? _

_ They halted outside the door to the room with the light, listening intently. The door was open a crack, and Harry could see that the fire was in a grate. He wondered what was going on. Suddenly, he heard a voice. It was timid, frightened, and very familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it. _

_ “There is still some left, my lord, if you require more sustenance.” _

_ “Later,” said a second voice. It was male, but very different. Cold, high, cruel. Something about that voice made Harry freeze in fear, even though it seemed he couldn’t be seen. “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.” _

_ Harry thought the name was extremely familiar. He saw the old man press his ear to the door, in order to hear more. Then there was the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor.  _

_ “Where is Nagini?” said the cold voice. _

_ “I — I don’t know, my Lord,” said Wormtail nervously. “She set out to explore the house earlier, I think.” _

_ “You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,” said the second voice. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.” _

_ The Journey? Harry wondered. What Journey? _

_ There was a short silence, finally broken by the first speaker. _

_ “My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?” _

_ “A week,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps longer. This place is moderately comfortable, the plan is halted for now, and there is no point moving before the World Cup. Perhaps even then, we will return here. No one will investigate, and a Fidelius will take care of anyone that does.” _

_ Harry strained to hear more. This seemed important to him, and he wished he could remember who the speakers were. _

_ “The — the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?” said Wormtail. “Forgive me, but — I do not understand — why should we wait until the World Cup is over?” _

_ “Because, idiotic rat, right now the country is flooded with foreign witches and wizards, and the Ministerial paranoia will reach every single person. Everyone will be on duty, checking and quadruple checking every single person to so much as move unexpectedly, let alone do something strange, so that Muggles notice nothing. We must wait.” _

_ Harry noticed that the old man looked extremely confused, and realised he must be a Muggle. He felt a stab of fear for the old man. If something went foul, the poor man would not be able to run away. _

_ “Your Lordship is still determined, then?” Wormtail said quietly. _

_ “Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.” The high voice held a trace of menace now. _

_ A slight pause followed — and then, the words sounding as though they were tripping over each other in their haste to get out, Wormtail shared his thoughts. _

_ “It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord.” _

_ Another pause, longer and much more menacing, came. _

_ “Without Harry Potter?” breathed the second voice softly. “I see . . .” _

_ “My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!” said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. “He is nothing to me! It is merely that… should another be used… this could be done far more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while — you know that I can disguise myself most effectively — I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person —” _

_ “I could use another wizard,” said the cold voice softly, “that is true. . . .” _

_ “My Lord, it makes sense,” said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. “It is difficult to get at the boy.” _

_ “You volunteer to go and fetch someone else? I wonder . . . perhaps the arduous task of helping me bores you, Wormtail? Perhaps you simply want to abandon the plan in favour of desertion?” _

_ Wormtail, panicking, tried to deny it, but the voice interrupted. _

_ “Do not lie to me! I can always tell… I revolt you, this task revolts you, you wish you had never gone looking for me, you filthy, cowardly rat.” _

_ “No! My devotion to Your Lordship —” _

_ “Your devotion? It is simple, self-serving cowardice. Had you anywhere to go, you’d be there. But without you, I can not survive in this form.” _

_ “But you seem so much stronger, my Lord —” _

_ “Liar,” breathed the second voice. “I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be disastrous to my health, what little I regained under your clumsy care. Silence!” _

_ There was silence. _

_ “I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will circumvent it most successfully. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail — courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort’s wrath —” _

_ Harry gasped. If this was Voldemort… that must be Pettigrew with him. But… how was he seeing this? Where was this? _

_ “My Lord, I must speak!” said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. “All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head — my Lord, Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder —” _

_ “If?” whispered the second voice. “If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition . . . Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us —” _

_ “I am a faithful servant,” said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice. _

_ “Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement.” _

_ “I found you,” said Wormtail, and there was de nitely a sulky edge to his voice now. “I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.” _

_ “ That is true,” said the second man, sounding amused. “A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail — though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?” _

_ “I — I thought she might be useful, my Lord —” _

_ “Liar,” said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform.” _

_ “R-really, my Lord? What — ?” Wormtail sounded terrified again. _

_ “Ah, Wormtail, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end . . . but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.” _

_ “You . . . you . . .” Wormtail’s voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. “You . . . are going . . . to kill me too?” _

_ “Wormtail, Wormtail,” said the cold voice silkily, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns. . . .” _

_ Wormtail muttered something too quietly for Harry to hear, but Voldemort laughed in response. _

_ “We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her  _ memory _ not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail.” _

_ He paused for a moment. _

_“One more murder . . . my faithful servant at Hogwarts . . . Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet . . . I think I hear Nagini. . . .”_ _Harry was terrified. They were talking about him, and he strained to hear every detail, to know everything, anything that could help him prepare._

_ And the second man’s voice changed. “ _ Nagini. Come here.”

_ Harry saw a giant serpent move towards the room, and felt terror. Would it see him and the Muggle? But is passed both of them by as quickly as it came. Harry’s heart hammered, but he kept listening. _

_ “ _ Did you find anything, Nagini? Anything of interest?”

_ “ _ Yes, master. There is an old human outside the door.”

“Indeed? And what is he doing there?”

“Listening in on your conversation, master. He is quite terrified.”  _ Harry could hear smugness in her tone. _

_ “Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,” Voldemort spoke in English again.. _

_ “In-indeed, my Lord?” said Wormtail. _

_ “Indeed, yes,” said the voice. “According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.” _

_ Harry paled. Something very bad would now happen to the poor old man, but what could he do? And why did the snake not see him? _

_ “Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?” _

_ Harry went inside after the Muggle. The owner of the cold voice appeared to be in the armchair turned to the fire, with the snake curled on the old, decomposing and moth-eaten rug like a horrible, terrifying parody of a pet dog. Wormtail beckoned the old man forwards into the room, and he obeyed, heavily limping and obviously terrified. _

_ “You heard everything, Muggle?” said the cold voice. The owner was small, not tall enough to be seen in the armchair. Harry wondered what Voldemort was possessing now. _

_ “What’s that you’re calling me?” The Muggle spoke for the first time that night. _

_ “I am calling you a Muggle,” said the voice coolly. “It means that you are not a wizard.” _

_ “I don’t know what you mean by wizard,” said the brave old man. “All I know is I’ve heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You’ve done murder and you’re planning more! And I’ll tell you this too,” he added, after taking a breath, “my wife knows I’m up here, and if I don’t come back —” _

_ “You have no wife,” said the cold voice, very quietly. “Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows . . . he always knows. . . .” _

_ “Is that right?” said the man disgustedly. “Lord, is it? Well, I don’t think much of your manners, my Lord. Turn ’round and face me like a man, why don’t you?” _

_ Harry felt terror chill his insides.  _ Get out, get out, GET OUT! _ He tried to shout at the old man, but he could make no noise, and the Muggle stayed standing. _

_ “But I am not a man, Muggle,” said the cold voice, barely audible now over the sound of the bright, crackling flames. “I am much, much more than a man. However . . . why not? I will face you. . . . Wormtail, come turn my chair around.” _

_ The servant, face screwed up with disgust, walked over to the arm chair and the snake covered rug, and slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have been doing anything else, Pettigrew began to turn the chair to face Harry and the muggle. _

_ Harry’s breath caught. An abomination, a corrupted mockery of a child, with sloughing, rotted flesh and two horrible red eyes, stared at the Muggle next to him, who was screaming as much as Harry would have, if he had any breath in his lungs. The thing lifted a wand, there was a green flash of light, and the Muggle fell dead to the floor. _

Miles away, Harry woke with a scream. He lay in bed, confused and disoriented for a few moments, before scrambling out and stumbling over to his table, grabbing a quill and parchment and furiously jotting down everything he could remember. The details faded even as he was writing, but he did manage to remember that Bertha Jorkins was dead, and Voldemort had found a way to circumvent the protections on Hogwarts for the coming year.


	3. Quidditch World Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Flee, Grim, and watch_   
>  _Blood pour everywhere._   
>  _Stay, Grim, and create_   
>  _A keyhole in the door_   
>  _Of a bright future._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Book of Eternal Prophecies, Salazare'i Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Ron's POV. Which is why the style is a teeny little bit different, since Ron is not quite as observant as Harry (or rather, he notices other things, of they type that are not present in this chapter).

Ron yawned. It was much, much too early to get up, but he was going to the Quidditch World Cup, and thus he could not complain. He rolled out of bed, scrambled to get up, and then chucked  _ Introduction to Runes _ at Harry, who had not woken from Fred’s wake-up call. Harry shot out of bed, wand in hand, and Ron was very glad he chucked the book rather than going himself.

“Get up, mate. It’s the Quidditch World Cup!”

Harry grumbled incoherently, but started to prepare to get up. In a short amount of time, they were both downstairs, eating breakfast. Privately, Ron thought it was a miracle Harry was here, even after that dream he had about You-Know-Who, Sirius had been adamant about Harry not going, and Ron had no idea how he had been convinced otherwise. Harry’s birthday had been celebrated in Grimmauld Place with Harry and the two Marauders, but Ron’s Mum had insisted  on another celebration, as she and all the other Weasleys had thought that Harry had been with the Dursleys, and had somehow found his way to the Burrow alone.

The others had by now trickled downstairs as well, and soon everyone (except Ron’s Mum who wasn’t going, and Percy, Bill and Charlie who got to sleep in) set off to the hill of Ottery St. Catchpole to look for a Portkey. It took them ages, yawning and unawake to get there, and the Portkey was found not by them, but by Cedric Diggory and his dad, both of whom were leaving from there as well. Ron had to admit, he really did have a hard time remembering exact conversations. He could remember any information he got and the general gist of it, but no real details.

Harry and Hermione exchanged befuddled looks as they touched the Portkey, but soon enough all of them were yanked off their feet, to land seconds later in an undignified sprawl in a foggy field.

After the short adventure of finding their camp spot, and the longer adventure of putting up the tent, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sent off to find water.  The people in the camp were far more awake now, and even Ron who was used to magic found himself astonished by some of the more foreign wizarding tents; ones made of live plants, ones that appeared to be made of moving posters, and some that appeared to shimmer in and out of visibility. Harry and Hermione were even more astonished as they had grown up in the Muggle world, and kept turning around to see everything.

“Oh my god, there are so many different things here…” said Hermione, eyes glazed over.

“According to Dad, when our folk get together we like to show off.” Ron replied, just as dazed internally.

Harry looked as though it hadn’t occurred to him just how many wizards there really were, and even ROn was confused for a second when he saw wizards and witches of their own age babbling away in different language who obviously did not go to Hogwarts, before Hermione said “Oh, they must go to different school, like Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Seireitei.”

While getting back to their tent they had met Seamus and Dean, were pulled over for a chat with Oliver and the three Gryffindor Chasers, had to dodge a party of Slytherins they only recognised by sight, and had run headlong into Susan Bones, whose laughter followed them until other noises blocked it.

Some Ministry officials had come by during various parts of the day, as the tent was right by the forest, but Ron didn’t really pay much attention. He, Harry and Hermione were far more engrossed in discussing Runes with Bill, leaving the rest of the Weasleys to look at them in confusion, and in Ginny’s case, indignation at not noticing her. Percy distinguished himself by trying to get along with all the Ministry members, the perfect bootlicker. His boss had even come by for a second, and while the conversation between Ron’s dad, the boss and Percy had appeared normal, when Ron heard “-Weatherby, make sure the report is on time-” he almost burst out laughing along with Harry and Bill, while the twins sniggered quietly and Hermione glanced disapprovingly at the wizard, who Ron remembered was Crouch.

“This is the boss he obsesses over?” Ron said once Crouch left.

“He doesn’t seem very… nice.” Hermione said lamely. 

“No, but he doesn’t have anything to do with Runes.” interjected Bill, and then they returned to the discussion.

All of the excitement however, had only really begun in the evening when the vendors came out and it was almost time for the match to begin. Harry had bought omnioculars for all three of them, which Ron graciously accepted after a nudge from Hermione, while Ron himself bought a model figure of Krum, shamrock hats for all three of them, and a tiny model Snitch for Harry’s Christmas present. The little thing zoomed at normal Snitch speed, but due to its size was a lot less expensive.

Then came the gong, from deep within the woods. It was time.

Wizards and witches poured through the woods and into the stadium, the Weasleys going as high as it was possible to go, filling up the front of the top box.

The Bulgarian Minister and the British one were in the box too, as well as some other Ministry officials, and to Ron’s utter disgust, the Malfoys. Of course they’d be here. However, he restrained himself at Harry’s look, and ignored the son, father and mother trio, all of whom were disdainfully glaring at the Weasleys.

“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen to the 74TH QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP! Featuring Ireland against Bulgaria! Introducing Ireland…”  Ron tuned out the commentator, Ludo Bagman. He knew perfectly well who the members were, looking instead at the team mascot. Or, well, mascots. Onto the field poured a party of rather beautiful women, with varying shades of bright red hair and flowing, black-green dresses who were beautifully dancing and singing with incredibly powerful voices. They were also commanding bright blue will’o’wisps, small and somewhat sentient lights, in a choreographed dance. Harry and Hermione leaned over to Ron,  and whispered “Who are they?”, as the whole stadium was entranced by the dance.

However, it was Ron’s dad who answered. “Coastal Banshees, native to Ireland. Unlike their cousins, normal Banshees, their voices are beautiful. I’d thought they would bring leprechauns, but…”

Then it was Bulgaria’s turn, and the most beautiful women Ron had ever seen entered the stadium. They also began to dance, and as they did, he felt a faint daze settle over his mind. However, as it did, protective Runes that Bill had forced him to memorise once he noticed Ron’s interest seemed to slam into his thoughts, blocking out the daze. All the Rune knowledge he had been absorbing endlessly over the summer rose up like a wave, dispelling the daze and leaving only walls of Runes in his mind. The women no longer seemed quite as beautiful, and as he stared around, Ron caught sight of completely entranced men almost drooling as they stared, and some even trying to get into the stadium. Harry, sitting next to him, was shaking his head, while neither his dad, Bill or Charlie were affected at all. Fred and George were plugging their ears and shutting their eyes, while Percy was slackjawed.

Then the introduction of the mascots ended, and the game began. Ron had seen professional games before, but this was  _ incredible _ . The players moved almost faster than he could follow, and the tactics were superb.

“Mullet! Troy! Mullet! Moran intercepts, streaks up the pitch and  _ SCORES!  _ 60-30 Ireland!”

Thirty minutes into the game, and Ireland was pulling ahead, while the announcer was reduced to shouting the names of the chaser’s as they got the Quaffle.

“Oh! What is Krum doing! He seems to have spotted the Snitch and is diving!” Bagman shouted.

Ron looked at Harry, who was staring into a different corner of the pitch, eyes following something only he could see… likely the Snitch, him being a brilliant Seeker. Ron fondly shook his head, as Hermione gasped as the Irish Seeker crashed into the ground, fooled by Krum’s perfectly executed Wronski Feint.

The game went on, Harry still mostly watching the Snitch in real time, while using the omnioculars to record the game. Ron narrated the game to his mostly oblivious friend, so that they could discuss it later, while Hermione raptly watched the game as though it was one of Ron’s puzzling games of chess against her, something to dissect and understand. Ron grimaced as he realised he was using Hermione-vocabulary.

Eh. Didn’t matter very much.

Then Krum dived again, and the match was over, with Ireland winning and Bulgaria losing, although Krum had gotten the Snitch.

The group headed back, exultant at the victory, and discussing the game late into the night.

Next morning, they all left for the Burrow, to spend two weeks playing Quidditch in the backyard, practicing Runes, and having Harry teach Ron and Hermione the basics of combat. Harry kept in touch with Sirius and Remus through the use of a two-way mirror, and spoke to them almost every night.

And then the holidays ended. Everyone got onto Hogwarts Express, just on time, and the new school year began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, but I am unlikely to update this story in the near future. My brain is being troublesome and is enthusiastically trying to off me, and I can't spare enough energy to write a complicated and detailed story such as this one, especially if I want to do it justice.  
> I will still be posting stuff, but mostly one/two/three-shots, mostly depressing/interesting ones, for various fandoms.  
> I hope I can resume soon... but realistically, my brain will likely only let up on its mission sometime in December. Maybe November.

**Author's Note:**

> Now that you've read it, honestly say: How bad is it?


End file.
